thesunandthesea | morning after.

Good. Good good. She isn't hurting, and she's slick and a bit stretched. That's halfway there, right? Of course, halfway is no finish line.

Kisses are easy to come by, and he gives her them freely. Sweeney tries to let her set the pace, but when she pulls him closer, he has to relinquish his grip to lean over her. It takes a force of will not to crawl all the way on top of her and bury deep. That would almost certainly spoil the progress made. Sweeney needs something else; it's just that he's not thinking all that clearly, and that makes brainstorming a challenge.

He compromises by nestling a knee between her hers so he's left straddling her thigh. The taunting grazes against her soft skin only make the aching worse, and instinctively, he starts to rock rhythmically as they kiss, chasing more pressure that seems ever out of reach. Instead, it just makes a sticky mess of her leg.

Sweeney finally has to part, his breath short as he forces a swallow. A flicker of an idea has taken root, and he shifts his weight hurriedly so he can grab at her wrist.

"Touch," he whispers, trying to tug her hand between them.

"Please."

She welcomingly brings her outer leg around his, anchoring him into her better, the way she remembered felt right, last night.

It is appreciated, that he does not rush for more. This time she gets what she was unsure of but wanted. To learn him. Touch him and know him better with curious fingers.

Gilia nods, eyes up on his to make sure he was enjoying her attempts. Her hand strokes across his hip, feeling out scars and muscles as she wandered lower. Until she felt the base of his cock, set in thick curls, and tentatively wrapped her fingers around him like she had last night. Until, at last, she stroked him, fingers loose, worried to hurt with too strong a grip. Moving down the length, her thumb catching across the tip and feeling the smear of wet that leaks.

He still felt smooth, warm and yet so heavy and thick in her hand. Her face warmed again, Spirits, she had fit him last night. Truly, how had she managed it at all?

Wetting her lip, with feathery brushes of fingers, she kept up slow strokes, "like this?"

Edited 2024-09-06 13:24 (UTC)

Holy hell, how he wants to fuck her. This torment calls for will he's not sure he'll possess for long. But there's something in the way she touches him so delicately that woos him to try. The grazing over his scars still evokes a flicker of panic, but then her hand is on his cock, and he forgets to worry about it. When she grips him properly, he doesn't notice that he's holding his breath, acutely focused.

"Yes." The word is barely air, and Sweeney swallows before trying it a bit firmer. "Yes." Gods, it's torture, purposeful enough to tempt, but without enough pressure to offer any relief.

"Yes," he manages, wetting his lip as his brow crinkles with focus.

"Also--" Okay, so how can he explain the next bit? Sweeney moves carefully and wraps his hand over hers. He squeezes it, just a touch, to encourage her while still letting her explore.

"Can--more." Is that what he means? He pulls her hand gently towards him in another stroke.

"Will not hurt. If--" What's the word? "Firm. More."

Her eyes flick between his features and the tense form of his body with a rapt attention. After so long wondering how couples laid together, hearing gossip, firm, theoritical, lessons, and peeks by the riverbed at bathing men, she is now learning it all herself - and it feels so strangely thrilling to know. Following his prompting, remembering how he has jumped the night before from just one kiss, but here he says he prefers something firmer.

So she does that with attentive eagerness, her fingers curling around him tighter, she tried to do as he said. Her hands are soft and her fingers long and clever from so much time sewing, used to delicate work that she applies strangely now. Letting them brush, curl and swipe them, to learn each response of his body. When his eyes close or flutter, his breath hitching or coming sharper, she repeats it, or slows down when it seems better to drag it out a little. Finding a even paced rhythm with the effort that he seems to enjoy.

It's not long before he releases her hand, letting his own drift to the side so his view is unobstructed. Sweeney can't help but peek down, getting caught for a moment in the sight of it. It may be a simple act, but it's no less hypnotic to watch her work it out.

"Both." Okay, so that may not make enough sense. He swallows and tries to catch his lashes from fluttering too much.

"Many--good." Sweeney's gaze darts up to hers, looking to be encouraging, even as his breath shortens.

"Kinds--touches--" Fuck, what's he trying to say? "Variety--good."

As if it isn't apparent from the way he faintly rocks into her hand.

She nods, and adjusts herself, tilting a little more into his body, feeling where their legs brush further below the blankets, her chest teasing against.

"Husband," she croons quietly between her own soft pants. Not sure if its from effort, or from the spiking warmth she feels shared to watch the flush on his features, his evident desire, or bodily reaction as she applies different touches. Alternating to tighten around his tip, her thumb brushing with it, or making sure to run all her fingertips against the base of his cock.

It feels natural in turn, to lean up and kiss him again. Her tongue brushing his lower lip, tasting and testing with the same eager newness of everything so far.

He's fighting to keep his breaths even, but it is increasingly a challenge. It's all the more so when she moves to kiss him. That's far too easy to fall into, and soon he's curled over her, his hand cradling the top of her head to keep her tucked under him.

Any words he might have attempted are lost on the air he steals between the parting of their lips. Sweeney's hunger grows along with the rest of him, and he's caught up in sucking her lips and tongue as the rocking grows more pronounced. He longs for her tightness, warm and wet and aching. Her hand is a poor substitute, but that doesn't mean his body isn't going to try its hardest with what it has to work with.

She keeps at it, best as she can - intoxicated with his eager kisses and bites. That instinct follows through when she finds him over her, as the most natural thing in the world. Her legs spread again to him settle comfortably between them, even if it leaves her hand trapped more awkwardly, his cock pressed against her slit.

It leaves him grinding against her, a second hand stimulation that makes her breath hitched in the approximation of the thing. The off beat bumps at make her eyes flutter and little soft pants of sound bleed into his mouth as she continues, forgetting what had so worried her earlier about his size. Just savouring instead each nudge and bump that comes along with it.

Oh. Oh no.

Can't she tell what she's doing? To him? How it makes him crazy? Sweeney winces and whimpers at each contact, promise without follow through. Surely, she knows. Surely, she'll take mercy on him. He can't help but bump harder, instinctively looking for purchase. But he only does it a few times before he can hear the echo of her voice. Her request. His assurance.

Sweeney squeezes his eyes tight as he fights to shallow his thrusts into her hand, praying for the ability to show mercy of his own. He strains to be good; to give her what she wants. That said, he barely has words in his own tongue, much less hers. He does his best.

"Want--want--" His jaw flexes with his effort, and his brow crinkles.

"Not--not--want--" Fuck, what's the word? When he finally finds it, he exhales sharply, but doesn't dare look at her.

"--slow--not--slow-- Sweeney forces himself to swallow.

"Need--need--slow--want slow--stop--little--"

He's already fighting to walk things back. The glossiness of the tip of his prick insists all the ways this isn't acceptable, but he's a man of his word, and he intends to keep it, especially to his wife.

Edited (Spelling correction) 2024-10-01 00:19 (UTC)

His words hardly seem to match his actions, his grinding quick and determined. Sharply moving against her slick folds and wrapping fingers. She feels how her thighs want to twitch as the underside of his cock grinds sharper into her clit, how it all feels so right.

"Want," she assures him back. Oh, she does want, he is not taking too much. Her little hitches of sounds coming freer each time. "Want, want-" she pants quicker into his mouth in each surer kiss.

The word on her tongue makes him swoon. There's no way to resist the impulse when she's insisting like that. His restraint yields, and his strokes return to their eagerness, quickly escalating as he wills her to align him so he can have her.

His focus brings his cheek to her temple; looking at her eyes is too distracting. It leaves him shallowly panting against her ear, and he swallows, trying to steady his breath.

Please, please, please.

It goes so simply now, the world of difference from the night before. Everything made slippery, easy, as he grinds against her, and she makes shallow breaths against his lips while her fingers fumble to guide him. A strain, still some push to it -

- and then she feels him slide in again and she moans in a stunned pleasure in comparison to the night before. It felt good, now, her body knowing what to expect, the release before making everything so much relaxed now, as he finds purchase in side of her as her eyes close. Oh. Oh this - this is - yes.

Her hands move to his hips, her knees lifting to bracket him, and let him drive into her freely now.

Even with his body's begging, there's still a flicker of surprise when he's finally granted the entrance he so desperately aches for. Sweeney wants to shove. And shove and shove and shove. He burns to fill her and lose himself inside her as the sounds of their shared ecstasy fills the room. But part of him knows he shouldn't, and it tries to keep a leash on himself.

Sweeney struggles to keep his strokes shallow, more rocking than fully pushing. He wants her to have time to adjust so she isn't crying out in surprised pain again. The torture of it makes him wince and whimper behind lips pressed so tightly they're white. His eyes roll beneath their lids; he doesn't dare look at her, lest his resolve break.

There is no muffled pain, no surprised gasp and whimper. Her hands grip on eagerly, her eyes fluttering between open and closed as he takes shallow thrusts that spark like flint. The angle, the movement, it felt like the end bit again, when it started to feel good.

Little moans tumble from her lips, her thighs twitching against his sides her fingers slipping and scraping. It felt good but it wasn't- more. That thing he did that was more. "Please - please, want - I want-" Higher and higher, all cascading pleading for more.

What is he supposed to do when she sings so sweetly? Sweeney doesn't slow when his eyes flash open, seeking hers to make sure they're on the same page. Everything about what she's doing feels like an invitation, but he's wary to assume without being able to see her face. But when he does, there's a wash of relief at the answer.

He allows himself deeper. Eager but not cruel, he at least tries to manage his pace with every inch he takes. He sneaks kisses between stolen breaths. Gods, she's like a summer's day, tasting of sweat and ripe fruit; a labor rewarded.

Eventually, their hips meet, and a trembling moan grazes her lips.

She isn't sure how long he was last, already so pent up. His body thrumming below her, from her tentative touches to this now and his restraint.

But - she found she did not mind. He had been so careful and sweet this morning, now that the pressure of the night before was over. His eagerness was thrilling. His desire of her, too, so new and interesting that she finds herself now simply watching him. Watching the pleasure over his face and with it she begins to - adjust. Figure out what he liked some more. Letting her legs sit wider, and roll her hips up so he could flush easier without straining for the drive. That she could tense her core like when she rode, and it make her flutter and feel him better inside of her.

He barely dares a few strokes before he tries to catch himself. Sweeney doesn't stop; no, it's nothing like that; but he tries to keep the distance of his thrusts a bit tighter.

His throat parched, he swallows a couple of times before he dares attempt words.

"Are ya--" Right.

"Good?"

Sweeney's toes flex against his Want, but he stays focused.

"Hurt?"

It's important to him to know, whether or not they continue with such knowledge. If it's uncomfortable, but she's still eager, he'll do his best to get through the thing without dwelling.

She takes a deep lungful for the space he gives her - and gives a little shake of her head. "No hurt."

The opposite in fact, from her following keen as she grabs onto his shoulders. He feels so far away, so she reaches for him, pulling him back to kiss her again. It was her new favourite thing. All her day dreaming and it was nothing to the wonderful reality. Breathing together, moving together.

Oh, thank fuck. Sweeney releases the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, sighing softly into her mouth as he allows himself to fill her fully again. It feels so...right, in a way he can't place. It's not as if he hasn't fucked his fair share of lasses, deep and hard. Perhaps it's because she's his wife, or perhaps because he was her first, and he feels a sense of obligation to protect her, even if it's from him.

But the way she pulls at him banishes those worries, and in short order, he's found full strokes. He savors the grip of her along every inch, only to delight in claiming them back again. Even as he tries to pace himself, his thrusts gradually build in vigor, and his voice escapes more freely. Groans and whimpers are speckled with hitched breaths. Every so often a word sneaks past.

"Beautiful...beautiful...wife beautiful..."

That - that part feels so startling again. His drive, his hunger. The strength of him letting go as he goes again and again between her thighs like he found something there he must have.

And how he praises her. Like she's something wonderful. Maybe he had been told to say that as a polite way to welcome his new bride. But it felt wonderful in the moment, that he thought she was beautiful, that he couldn't help but go faster again the way he clearly liked. Encouraging him, let him know she liked all of it comes with more kisses, her hands running up and down his back, letting him find that point he so desperately sought with the same curiosity.

His freer hand shifts to her hip, squeezing it for a moment before sliding up her thigh to her knee. Sweeney hooks it and encourages her to curl her leg over his back. There's intimacy there, the joining of their bodies in more than one place, but it also buys him a few more fractions of an inch.

Every muscle starts to tense, and his jaw flexes when he grits his teeth. The cliff in in sight, and he runs towards it with wild abandon, restraint finally yielding to his raw Want. It's a desperate thing, so long chained, and as he chases his climax, it's easy to sense the warrior in him; a primal thing that won't stop until it's claimed victory with a sharp cry.

He's so handsome, as she watched, fascinated completely in seeing the pleasure wash over him. Still felt good, felt welcome and eager, and maybe, with more time, it might have built to the same high again. But even without that, she watches him in eagerness. Her lips roaming to kiss across his neck and shoulders. A little firmer to nip against his ear, the same murmurs of encouragement, and the soft little moans that slip between them when he grinds against something that made her jolt and twitch and clench tightly around him.

At least until he finishes, that deeper claiming dig where he is as far into her as he can be, his body twitching and she feels it better this time without being so overwhelmed. That warmth that floods her that is not her - but him, and the blush is hidden behind her over all flush that it does not matter so much. Rather, she just keeps kissing where she can reach, nosing against his long braids to pepper them against his skin.

The tension lingers as he pulses in her, but eventually it ebbs as the glow of pleasure washes over him in the wake. Sweeney doesn't draw back; no, this is something he intends to savor for a fair bit longer; but his muscles start to uncoil as he lets his breath fall into shallow pants.

A few seconds later, he nuzzles kisses against her temple and into her hair as a sign of his gratitude. He swallows repeatedly, his mind swimming as he grasps for straws to give her in her native tongue.

"Alright?"

"Mmhm." She nodded at him, best as she could below him. Her smile still there, and it twinged a little after the night before.

Though she is not sure if she wants him to move yet, or stay. This closeness was - nice. Good. It did not feel as awful as the night before or as overwhelming. This brand new thing they were. "Felt nice."

That phrase catches him off-guard; not that he thought she'd been as miserable as the night prior, but it's still a far jump to 'feeling nice'. Sweeney leans back, enough to put her in clear focus but not so much as to part their hips. His eyes dance over her features, making sure they're both on the same page.

"Nice?"

His expression is a mix of unsureness, surprise, and hope; it makes him look a little younger for it.

"Really?"

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